


Small Joys

by cactwerk (ninnie_eats_chips)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Babyfic, Blind Ignis Scientia, Daddy!Ignis, Domestic, F/M, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Future Fic, Ignis is married, Ignis' POV, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninnie_eats_chips/pseuds/cactwerk
Summary: A drabble of Blind!Ignis caring for his baby at home.





	Small Joys

An alarm clock blares from the far left side of the bed. Ignis feels the bed dipping down ever so slightly next to him, warm toes curling against the back of his calf where his pajamas rode up his leg. The appendages slowly twitch in attention to the sound. He is patient, turning over to feel for his wife’s body as she begins to stir.

“Good morning, my love.” He says softly. The pads of his fingers smooth over his wife’s shoulder before pushing the hair from the back of her neck. Ignis takes a moment to inhale the scent of her favorite products–and he knows very well which ones they are. When he kisses her nape, he can hear her smile in the way she sighs through her nose, a deep hum of approval resonating in her throat.

“G’morning,” she replies sleepily. Breaking into a yawn, just as she begins to stretch out to silence the alarm, another sound is heard alongside the clock.

She stops in her tracks for a moment, giggling before pressing the off button. A smile tugs at Ignis’ lips.

His baby girl coos in the monitor on the bedside table.

“It sounds like our work is cut out for us already.”

Ignis’ arms wrap themselves around his partner’s frame and he leans his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent once more. Faint, artifacted glints of light manage to sift between his eyelids. Comforting, somehow. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone, Iggy?” Warm hands brush against the fabric of his sleeves. Just on time, the infant starts to throw a fit.

“I’m sure we’ll be quite alright once I’ve fixed the little one a bottle. Perhaps a cuppa for myself, the way things are going so far.”

A laugh rumbles beneath the advisors hands before the couple exchanges a kiss.

“I’ll put a pot on for you.” She says.

“Thank you, dear.”

* * *

It takes roughly eighteen steps from the foot of the bed, down the hallway to touch the doorframe of the nursery, often lead by wailing and fussing from baby Anthea. Ignis set his cane aside and made contact with the wood finish of the crib, hushing his child while he gently reached in.

“So much noise for such a small soul. Extra cranky this morning, are we?”

Of course he usually kept a modest smile as he did this, locating and unfastening the safety locks prior to lowering the bar. He didn’t usually like this part; reaching blindly, in the literal sense, for his daughter. He had gotten pretty used to the crib by now, but he found himself often muttering apologies to her when he’d initially poke her. This is why he now carefully offered his hand upside down. Thea was in the flailing stage. She’d sooner find _him_ before he found her.

“There we go… Let’s see your mummy off to work–Ah, yes,” Ignis responds amusedly to her needy squirming within his arms. “You are just as insistent about having your breakfast as your father, I see.”

The next thing he does is take his cane, strategically placed in the corner of the room. He’d gotten used to this life; used to going about his days without the use of a cane, taking advantage of all his other heightened senses. But when it came to the birth of his first child, Ignis knew that it would be best to keep it handy. His pride was far less important than the safety of the baby while at home.

Ignis counts his paces to the kitchen as practiced, holding his child securely in one arm as he goes. Taps the doorframe of the kitchen lightly with his cane. Passing onto the tiled flooring, he’s greeted by the aromatic scent of coffee beans brewing up on the counter. He turns to his wife who is rustling up to him with her jacket and keys.

“Thea’s bottle is in the warmer.” She pauses to kiss her husband’s lips and the top of her daughter’s head. “Sorry I have to hurry off.”

“No worries, we’ll be fine.”

“Aah!” The baby exclaims.

…

There's a small accident once Ignis' wife leaves.

“Don’t tell your mother I’ve spilled some of her breastmilk.”

* * *

It's quite an average morning for feeding the baby. Ignis sighs as he slips into his partner’s ill-fitting robe and fumbles for only a moment tying it together while Thea is restless on the couch. Oh no, this isn’t the first time he’s had to put on mummy’s clothes to get a certain little girl to take the bottle she wanted so badly. His coffee has gotten cold by now. He'll have to warm it up in the microwave at some point.

_“Almost… Drat. Where is that darned loop? Ah, there it is…”_

He scoops up his daughter close to his chest so that she can smell her mother, taking a seat on the couch as he readies the bottle. After a moment, he feels Thea grasp the bottle with her tiny hands.

He jokes, “A bit of favoritism. I’ll pretend I’m not hurt at all.”

The changing isn’t fun, but it isn’t hard to pick up on the smell. Ignis can only hope that he’s gotten her clean enough–-the bathing is regrettably left for his wife most of the time, or for them to work together. He only fears getting soap in her eyes.

She’s come to be somewhat of a talkative baby and he adores that, engaging her in conversation as if she were old enough to understand. This way, the house isn’t so quiet on Ignis’ days off. And she’ll tire herself out with rattling little toys until her daddy puts her in the swing.

… Today is not one of those days. Today is ‘I-will-cry-the-moment-you-put-me-down’ day.

And that’s more than fine, too. Ignis retires the fuzzy robe and picks Thea up against his chest. He talks almost as if he’s annoyed, but he could never get tired of this. He sits down in the rocking chair in the study, cradling her and speaking softly until her little lungs are tired out. The very same music he played for her while still in the womb whispers from his phone placed on the coffee table nearby.

They both fall asleep like this.


End file.
